


dark, and full, and terrifying

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle, Blood and Injury, Coma, Developing Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Guilt, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Injury Recovery, Love, Major Character Injury, One Shot, POV Gendry Waters, Regret, Season/Series 08, Serious Injuries, Tumblr Prompt, Weapons, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 10:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19765888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: The God of Death might have an army marching on Winterfell, but he doesn't get to take whoever he pleases.Arya is badly hurt defending Gendry (requested by @gayeld on Tumblr).





	dark, and full, and terrifying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gayeld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayeld/gifts).



> Please enjoy, kudos and comment!

_Not today, not today, not today._

She'd been repeating the refrain half the night, both Syrio's firm voice and her own softer, weaker one echoing in her head, driving her on, her arms whipping around her spear. The God of Death himself had sent an army to wage war on her home, but he couldn't have Winterfell and he couldn't have her family - _not today, not today, not today._

And not _him_. Not Gendry, whatever exactly he was to her now - friend, lover, future. Death couldn't take him, either.

It's with that in mind that death nearly gets _her_ \- her heart heavy with pressure inside her chest as she sees that Gendry is beating down and then up and then sideways at the wights on his part of the ramparts, as she's abandoning her own guard to speed over to him, her boots slick atop ice and blood and her spear swinging faster than she thinks she can even swing until suddenly the weight is gone. 

She can barely see, barely hear, barely feel, but she knows the spear has come in half in her hands, she knows she's bleeding from a few places, and then she knows the concern in Beric's eyes as he approaches her. There's a shuffling at her feet that startles her, but it's just the Hound gruffly helping Gendry to his feet. Her fingers go limp, letting go of the spear even though her mind is demanding she still fight. She doesn't hear the dragonglass hit the floor. 

She makes herself look up to meet Gendry's eyes, only weakly thinking - _not today._

_But then, if it had to be today, at least it mattered._

~ ~ ~

_It'd be strong enough,_ he'd insisted, and it hadn't been. She'd said it would do, and it hadn't.

Well, it had - but only for a time, and not well enough. He should have made her a weapon that lasted the whole battle, one that had actually protected her. It was him she'd broken it protecting, as though she was more willing to face death even with her armor ripped and her head dripping blood than to chance death taking him from her once and for all.

Gendry didn't know how he felt about most of that. 

Soldiers protected those next to them in battle, of course - just as the Hound had helped him get Arya away from the battlements and into a secluded room where she had a chance of healing, just as Beric had died to give them time - but they'd always been more than just nearby bodies to each other. At least, they certainly had to Gendry. He'd never thought it fair to expect to bear the same importance to Arya as she had to him, but her absolute refusal to even consider letting him be among the fallen was a confirmation he was surprisingly bitter about getting. 

It should be _him_ , after all. Arya could be on her deathbed, and it was all his fault. Had she been too tired, and that was how the strike had come upon her head? Had he needed to make the weapon with more dragonglass? Had it been too short, too long? Should he have insisted she go to the crypts with her sister, regardless of her strengths, or kept himself in the yard and off the ramparts after the retreat? He could have done any of a million things differently and it might have meant her life, and any discord between them would have been well worth that.

"She's not going anywhere," snaps a voice from the doorway, and Gendry jerks upwards, loosening his sweaty grip on her hand as he sits up. He hadn't even heard the door open. He turns to see the Hound, and realizes that he can hear people's distant chatter. Elsewhere in the castle, people were able to be happy about their survival, to mourn those they knew they'd lost. Gendry couldn't have brought himself to be among them if he'd tried. 

"Lady Stark is bringing food up from the feast, and you need to rest." 

He wants to argue, and nearly does, but Clegane moves to the chair in the corner, aiming his gaze towards the bed Arya's laid up on, and a moment later Lady Sansa steps through the door, nodding a gentle, weary greeting at both of them as she sets down a large platter of food. Gendry's stomach rumbles at the scents, and he realizes it's probably been at least a couple of days since he's eaten, provided he wasn't forgetting an instance in which he was made to eat since the battle. He's been sat in the same seat nearly every moment since they'd gotten her onto the bed, and everything had melted into a blur.

Lady Sansa doesn't look as though she's slept much, either - but how could she? She'd seen her home broken and set aflame, faced her dead ancestors, witnessed multiple sorts of magic, lost a friend, and sewn her little sister's wounds, all in the same night. She doesn't ask questions, either, but just as the other times she's come to see Arya, Gendry can only wait for the moment he's asked to explain himself. Even Jon hadn't asked, when he'd rushed to her side, still in his own blood-covered armor. 

As Gendry lets himself nab a piece of bread, revelling in its warmth against his fingers, he wonders if the Hound has told the Starks what he knew of them. He'd caught them half-naked, after all, and cared less than Gendry about Jon's possible reactions to such a situation. Davos, as well, had seen Arya running to defend him, but Gendry doesn't know what he'd have said. 

Lady Sansa closes the door and then pulls the covers away slightly, taking a somber look at the bandages covering her sister's body. Gendry catches a pained glance from where he stands, but doesn't let himself look too long. He doesn't imagine Lady Sansa would take kindly to that.

"The ones on her side were nearly soaked through yesterday," she says, and he can hear the pain in her attempt to be reassuring. "It's better, tonight. She's getting better. She'll get better."

Clegane is surprisingly silent, and Gendry eats, and Lady Sansa props up Arya's pillows a bit more and then grabs one of two bowls of soup from the platter of food, taking a seat in the chair Gendry's been using to spoon some of it into Arya's mouth. 

She finishes the bowl, and stays at the bedside a few more moments, until a scratch at the door pulls her out of thought. Clegane stands to open it, and Ghost rushes in. The man glances into the corridor to see if he's in someone's company, but no one else joins them. Ghost goes to lick Sansa's hand, and then gingerly hops up onto the unoccupied side of the bed. 

"Yet another guard, wolf girl," Clegane grumbles, but tenderness is more apparent than usual. Lady Sansa stands with a sigh, and gives some weak thanks and weaker goodbyes, swearing to Arya that she'll continue coming to check on her. 

Gendry isn't sure how quickly he falls asleep, but the sleep isn't restful in the slightest. He can barely see more than those final moments of battle - the crack of the spear he'd made ringing in his head through the too-long trip to this room, the weight of Arya's body growing greater in his arms as she slipped out of consciousness, for what he can only hope will not be the last time.

~~

Everyone else who's tending to Arya trades off shifts or darts to her chambers in between duties, but Gendry won't leave until she wakes and tells him to. He can't. He'd supplied what weapons he could for the battle he'd come for, and Jon allows him this, his chair at the bedside and seldom-used cot by the hearth. He does start getting up on occasion to keep the fire going, after a couple growls from the Hound about the matter.

Arya's been laid up nearly a week when her skin takes some of its color back and she gives her first response, a squeeze returned to Gendry's hand so gentle he thinks he must be imagining it - but he croaks out her name like the prayer it is, and the grip tightens. 

He laughs, feeling infinitely lighter for that moment. Lady Sansa - just Sansa is fine, she'd said, days ago, but he couldn't quite keep himself from use of the title - has been right all along. _She's getting better. She'll get better._

~~

The next day, her whole face winces when her sister changes her bandages. Gendry can tell some of the wounded area will scar, but nothing has bled through, and some parts don't need to be bandaged again.

She doesn't seem to respond to any of Sansa's questions, but she was bleeding less, and she'd winced, and it was something, it was everything.

_She's getting better. She'll get better._

~~

Arya stirs the tiniest bit when Jon kisses her forehead goodbye. He's saying he doesn't wish to leave but must, and promising her he'll come back home as soon as possible, with tears in his eyes and in a voice Daenerys can't hear from the doorway, and something like recognition flickers her eyelids.

Still, Bran hadn't woken up yet when Jon had left for the Night's Watch, and then Bran had never walked again. Gendry tries not to think of it, of what damage still might be done, but if - _when_ \- she wakes, the worst will be over.

Davos asks for a moment alone with Gendry before they set off, and uses it to see right through him.

"This isn't your fault, lad." The words seem easy enough off his lips, and Gendry might nearly believe them, if only because it's Davos - but he can't shake that he should have done better by her. 

Simply because he gets the chance to, he makes sure he hugs both Davos and Jon goodbye.

~~

Clegane gives his farewell the following morning, with far less fanfare. He tells Arya he's going to cross his brother off her list, orders her to keep healing, and orders Gendry to keep watching out for her.

Gendry is probably imagining the small smile that's slipped across her lips for the rest of the day, but he prefers to believe it's there.

~~

She's been asleep for sixteen days, and he, for some mere hours, when a gruff half-bark from Ghost rouses him only so he can finally see her grey eyes have opened. They've a weary, shocked look to them, like she's barely aware of herself aside from the hand gripping his, a grip she's tightening, but she's awake, and his heart leaps with joy in his chest as he returns the grasp.

"You look as bad as I feel," she says, her voice weak but the humor present; even she doesn't tease him for the tears that brim his eyes.

"Clearly you're feeling better, then, milady," he replies, trying not to think of how he could have said any of the million more romantic things he's thought in the past days, all of which he fails to make into words in the moment.

"Wasn't a compliment, stupid," she says, her voice a bit stronger and smile a bit more true, and he can't help but push himself up out of his seat to lean over her. He kisses her forehead, on the spot that's not quite healed, realizing nearly at the last second that the last thing he should be doing soon after she's woken up is to make her short of breath. 

She groans, though - "you missed," with her breath warm at his neck and her head tilting back as though he'd not know her meaning from the words. 

He obliges, slipping his lips down to hers, as softly as he can manage with the deep desire he has; he'd kiss and touch her in every possible manner if he let it get the best of him, but she needs her strength back. She curls her free hand around his neck, running it against his hair like she had those nights ago, perhaps noting that it's grown a bit longer in that time.

She's deepening the kiss when he pulls his lips away a couple inches, fighting the urge to stifle her grumble with another kiss. 

_She'd gotten better._

"I missed you."

She chuckles at that, and he thinks she might be aware he's barely left her side since he'd seen a wight make a hole in it, but she just smiles, a pleased, uncertain, beautiful thing. 

"I'll be needing a new spear, I suppose," she says lightly, and he laughs this time, pressing the tip of his tongue to the back of his teeth as he considers shaking his head at her. 

"Not today," he says, his tone more harsh than he intends it to be, but Arya's eyes soften. He'd make her a million weapons if it meant the privilege of tenderness from her.

"No, not today."


End file.
